Furore Teutonicus

The winds of pestilence blow your way
A feast for crows, in thousands they would lay
Nailed to trees, left to rot
Once food for the gods, served fresh and hot
Into the dark forest went Varus and his legion
The barbarians lie in wait for hunting season
The mighty legion, to conquer they were bred
Now they march into the unknown
The forest of the dead
In the forest of darkness they await
To rain arrows, spears, to pierce armor plate
Well hidden in the shadows, the shadows of scorn
Blades sharp, arrows quilled, faces painted for war
Down they charged raining arrow and spear
Trapping the legion like wounded deer
Trails of blood covered the killing fields
Penetrated armor, and broken shields
The gods will feast tonight
The slaughter complete, a legion no more
A pagan sacrifice to the gods of war
Altars bloodstained, a sea of crimson red
After a days calling, a legion lies dead